For a moment, she felt normal.
As normal as she could given the situation.
“Are you the king?”
“No,” he mumbled.
The clipped answer irritated her.
Taut skin bounced beneath her nails as she scratched them along his exposed forearm, desperate to add a few scars of her own. Scarlet stained her fingers as blood rushed to the surface while she maneuvered her bound wrists.
“Sorðinn,” he snarled, yanking his arm away.
She wobbled slightly before his hand flew to her delicate throat, collaring it. Thunder hammered in her ears, drowning out all other sounds.
It would be too easy. If he wanted, he could crush her windpipe.
Fingertips flexed over her pulse, squeezing softly. As if he were debating doing that.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she hissed with a confidence she had never felt before.
A raspy chuckle vibrated against her back. His grip around her stayed firm as he leaned in, close enough to feel the brush of his mouth against the shell of her ear.
“It appears as though your flame is not easily doused.”
“No. It’s not.”
“Good,” he murmured, the hand around her neck falling back to her stomach. After a beat, he spoke again, his lips still dangerously close to her face. “Konungr is our chief. I am his Jarl. I serve him.”
So, someone of importance.
With the sway of the stallion, something hard poked her. She ignored it. Not wanting to draw more attention to the fact that he stirred in her presence. Or that the heat at the crux of her thighs intensified with his touch.
A salty tang hit her nose, mixing with a faint hint of wet moss. The brush thinned, revealing the mouth of a rocky beach framing an endless span of blue disappearing into the horizon.
A silhouetted mass sat illuminated by dozens of flickering torches, making it look as though it had been engulfed in flames. When she heard stories of raiders, she expected fishing boats, not something this large with dozens of oars protruding from its sides.
Sparks pricked her fingers, and she shifted slightly.
“Have you been on one before?” he asked, some of the gruffness in his voice softening.
“No.”
Clicking his tongue, he brought the horse to a stop, dismounting with more grace than she thought possible for a man of his size. Hands fell to her hips, and he helped her off. He held her gaze until her feet hit the pebbled sand.
The bright colors of the evening exploded behind him, dwarfing her in his shadow.
Each breath turned more labored, pinned underneath his assessing stare. When he finally pulled away to speak to the man behind her, her chest expanded, relieving the ache in her lungs.
They exchanged words in a foreign flurry until the man bowed his head, leaving to tend to the horse.
“You must be hungry,” he said, holding onto the rope lead to guide her on board.
Despite not having had anything since breakfast, the idea of food made acid coat her tongue. She shook her head, suddenly finding her linen shift itchy.
A frustrated sound rattled in his throat, as if the idea of her not eating displeased him.
It didn’t matter. She wasn’t there to please him.
